


Rules and Regulations

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cats, Destiel Ficlet Challenge, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean pushes a hand through his hair and Castiel pretends not to notice the way it stands in short spikes.  “Shit.  This ticket is going to cost me two hundred and eighteen bucks.”</p><p> </p><p>Castiel can see that he’s upset. He knows he should say something comforting at this point.  But the logical part of his brain overrides things and what comes out is, “Perhaps next time you’d be better off not breaking the law.”</p><p> </p><p>Dean stares at him for a long moment, surprising Castiel when his mouth curves into a smile.  “Oh, a goody-two-shoes, huh?” He takes a step towards Castiel, leans in and winks. “I know your type, Cas. Usually means you’re hiding something.”</p><p> </p><p>Castiel feels his face redden as he pushes the paper back to Dean.  “Good luck,” he says as he hurries to the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules and Regulations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Destiel Ficlet Challenge](http://destielficletchallenge.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Prompt: Lights and Cameras

Castiel will never understand how the person responsible for delivering mail to the apartment building keeps their job. How difficult is it to tell a three from a four?  He’s lost track of how many times he’s ended up with mail in his box addressed to the apartment directly above his.  Usually, it’s those advertising flyers that everyone gets or the occasional credit card offer. Once it was a glossy magazine all about cars or mechanics or something.  For the most part, he’ll recycle the ads or, if it looks like something worth keeping, he’ll leave it on the little table next to the mailboxes. This one, though. This one looks important.

 

It’s from the department of traffic enforcement.

 

Castiel turns the envelope over in his hands as he decides what to do.  He could chance leaving it here for his neighbor to find.  But what if it’s a summons or legal matter?  If it gets lost or thrown out and some sort of penalty results, well, then at a certain level, it would be his fault.  It’s probably best if he takes it directly up to apartment 4C where Dean Winchester lives.

 

He climbs the stairs to the fourth floor. The long, white-painted hallway with the fraying grey carpet looks identical to his own on the third floor. Just like his, apartment 4C is the second door on the right.  Standing outside, he can hear rock and roll music playing through the door. He’ll knock one time, he decides, and if there’s no answer then he’ll slip the envelope under the door.

 

It’s not like he doesn’t know who Dean Winchester is. He’s spent the last three months living beneath him and in that time, he’s learned to recognize some of the classic rock he insists on playing most nights and there’s no mistaking the sleek black car he keeps parked in the lot.  Everything about him is loud and brash and Castiel is quite sure that Dean is never lacking for female attention.  With that swagger and leather jacket and those green eyes—

 

Castiel only realizes he’s still standing motionless outside Dean’s door when the door from the stairs opens. Turning, he sees a woman digging keys out of her purse to open 4B.  He nods a greeting to her, then raps quickly on the door.  

 

Immediately he hears footsteps approaching and, for a quick moment considers shoving the envelope under the door and dashing for the stairs.  But then the door opens and Dean is standing there, the music louder now.  He’s dressed in a well-worn green Henley and Castiel might be more than a little distracted by the way he has the sleeves pushed up.

 

Probably he should say something instead of standing here with the envelope clutched in one hand.

 

Dean furrows his brow.  “Cas, right?  From downstairs?”  Before Castiel can respond, Dean’s eyes widen.  “Oh hey, man, is the music too loud?  I didn’t think it was but I can turn it down if it’s bothering you.”

 

“No, no.  That’s not it,” Castiel says.  “I, uh, this was in my mailbox and it looks important so—“

 

”Come on in,” Dean says, taking the envelope from him while opening the door wider and stepping back. 

 

Castiel had no intention of talking to Dean, much less entering his apartment, but he finds himself taking a few steps inside. As Dean closes the door behind them, Castiel chances a quick look around.  The layout of Dean’s apartment is identical to his own, of course, but Dean’s is sparsely furnished.  A futon sits in the middle of the living room facing a small television perched on an unfinished chest of drawers.  An actual record player is surrounded by a couple of bright orange milk crates filled with albums. Castiel doesn’t have a lot of furniture either but his favorite armchair holds the blanket his sister crocheted for him and the south-facing window is lined with a variety of plants that thrive in the sunshine. 

 

While he’s looking around, Dean has opened the envelope and he’s peering at the papers inside.

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” he says. He thrusts the paper at Castiel. “Can you believe this? This crap can’t actually be legal.” He rattles the papers until Castiel takes them from his hand.

 

It’s a traffic ticket for a red light run at the intersection of Fifth and Sullivan Streets.  It includes a photo taken from the traffic camera mounted on a light pole. 

 

“How can that be proof?” Dean argues. “Those things are probably rigged.”

 

Castiel studies the picture.  “It certainly appears to be your car,” he says. “It’s pretty distinctive and that is your license plate, correct?” 

 

Dean snatches the picture back. “Okay, but look. That might not even be me driving.”

 

Castiel wonders if Dean has a girlfriend he lets drive what appears to be his prized possession.  “Has someone else been driving your car?” he ventures.

 

“Of course not!”  Dean looks horrified at the very thought.  “But my point is that you can’t tell it’s me so how can it be legal?”  He looks smug now, pleased with his own argument.

 

Castiel holds out the letter that accompanied the picture.  “It says here that you can appear in traffic court if you wish to contest it.”

 

Dean pushes a hand through his hair and Castiel pretends not to notice the way it stands in short spikes.  “Shit.  Two hundred and eighteen bucks.”

 

Castiel can see that he’s upset. He knows he should say something comforting at this point.  But the logical part of his brain overrides things and what comes out is, “Perhaps next time you’d be better off not breaking the law.”

 

Dean stares at him for a long moment, surprising Castiel when his mouth curves into a smile.  “Oh, a goody-two-shoes, huh?” He takes a step towards Castiel, leans in and winks. “I know your type, Cas. Usually means you’re hiding something.”

 

Castiel feels his face redden as he pushes the paper back to Dean.  “Good luck,” he says as he hurries to the door.

 

Downstairs he opens his own door just enough to slip inside, then closes it firmly behind him.  He leans against the door and breathes, listening to the muffled sound of Dean’s music from the floor above.  When he feels something warm brush against his ankle, he bends down and scoops up the skinny black cat.  Golden eyes peer up at him as the cat relaxes in his arms.

 

“Nobody knows you’re here but me,” he assures her. “It’ll be fine.”

 

There are no pets allowed in the apartment complex. Castiel knows that for a fact. It’s grounds for immediate eviction, no security deposit return, no thirty days warning, just _out_.  But Castiel also knows that if he hadn’t brought home this cat when he did, she’d have been euthanized. 

 

Hannah, the only friend he’s made since he moved here, volunteers at a shelter.  The shelter has an excellent placement record, but not enough space to keep animals indefinitely.  This cat had so many strikes against it: black cats always went last, Hannah had explained, and this one was timid and scrawny and only had three legs. She would’ve adopted the cat herself, but she had roommates who were allergic. 

 

Castiel obeys the item limit in the express lane at the grocery store.  He never tries to use an expired coupon on the rare occasions he treats himself to pizza. The only time he’s had to pay a library fine was when he was too sick to get out of bed to return his books. He’s a rule-follower, but as Hannah told him about this cat, something in him snapped into action. Maybe it was the part of him that remembered never being picked for anything in high school, from lunch tables to kickball teams to dances.  He was only ever in demand as a lab partner or for group projects, where he could be expected to shoulder the majority of the academic work. 

 

He’d asked Hannah to take him to the shelter and he stood stiffly as she gently coaxed the shy cat from the back of the cage. Castiel reached out a tentative hand as she watched him with sharp, discerning eyes from the safety of Hannah’s arms. She sniffed at him, then bumped him with her head in a clear _pet me_ gesture.

 

“She looks smart,” Castiel observed. Something in her gaze reminded him of his favorite teacher in college.  “I’m going to call her Professor.”

 

“That’s a terrible name for a cat.” Hannah said.  “Besides, she already has a name:  Muffin.”

 

Castiel lifted the cat and tucked her against his chest.  “Let’s go home, Professor Muffin.”

 

That night Hannah had helped him sneak the cat into his apartment.  He felt bad about breaking the rules, but he couldn’t have lived with himself otherwise. Luckily, the cat was naturally shy and only rarely did anyone come to his door, so it had been a pretty easy secret to keep.  He’d taken to buying cat food and litter in small amounts, which was more expensive, but easier to hide under other groceries in his reusable cloth shopping bags.

 

As a new song drifts down from the ceiling, he carries the cat over to the couch.  She curls up in his lap, making a small squeak of disapproval as he leans forward to reach for the pile of his own mail.   Absently scritching between her ears, he wonders if Dean likes cats. He’s probably more the big Golden Retriever type. 

 

*

 

A little over a week later, Castiel is surprised by a knock at his door as he prepares to feed Professor Muffin.   Quickly, he replaces the container of kibble and closes the cabinet.  At the door, he looks through the peephole, one hand on the knob.

 

It’s Dean.

 

Cas glances around, but the cat is nowhere to be seen. Slowly, he opens the door and slips into the hall, careful to leave just enough room that he won’t lock himself out.

 

Dean smiles brightly.  “Hey, I went to traffic court today and the cop who was responsible for validating the photos never showed so they threw out the ticket!”

 

“That’s great,” Cas finds himself smiling back at Dean’s contagious enthusiasm.

 

“So, now that I’m up $218, I thought I’d see if I could buy you a beer or a coffee or something.”

 

Castiel frowns.  “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

 

Dean’s smile fades and he holds up his hands. “Oh, um, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant as a thank you. Not everyone would’ve made sure I got that letter and I’d’ve been totally screwed without it.”

 

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “No, I simply meant that because you didn’t have to pay the fine, it doesn’t mean you’re ahead money-wise. You’re actually right where you started.”

 

“So, you aren’t turning down getting a drink with me,” Dean clarifies, the happy glint back in his eye.  “You just want me to represent my financial situation accurately?”

 

“Let me get my jacket and my keys,” Castiel finally says, when he realizes he’s been staring. 

 

Back in his apartment, he takes a moment to fill Professor Muffin’s bowl.  She’s nowhere to be found, but he’s not surprised.  No doubt she retreated to her favorite hiding spot under the bed when she heard a strange voice. 

 

Dean has one hip leaning against the wall and is scrolling through his phone when Castiel returns.  Hopefully he doesn’t think it was rude to be left waiting in the hall and Castiel wonders if he should make some excuse, but Dean puts his phone into his pocket and looks up, “Ready?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel says and they walk down the hall to the stairs that will take them to the lobby. 

 

“I was thinking we could go to Rosie’s?” Dean suggests. “It’s just down the block.”

 

“That’s fine.” Cas agrees, even as a small part of him feels disappointed at not being able to ride in Dean’s car. “I haven’t been there before, but I like to support local businesses.”

 

“You haven’t?”  Dean raises his eyebrows in disbelief before beginning a lengthy explanation of the beer specials, appetizers (apparently the nachos are ‘kickass’), and the jukebox loaded with classic rock.  By the time they walk into the crowded bar a block and a half away, Castiel hasn’t had to say much and he’s feeling relaxed as a result.

 

After the cold air, the bar feels overly warm and they’re both taking off their jackets just inside the door. Dean must be a regular here because a couple of people greet him by name, but Dean merely calls back a hello as he steers them to two open stools at the end of the bar.

 

“What kind of beer do you want?” Dean asks, as he waits for the bartender to finish mixing up a series of cocktails.

 

Castiel decides to go with the truth. “I’ve tried a few, but I haven’t found anything I really like.”

 

Instead of looking shocked, Dean smiles at him. “I know what I’m getting you, then.”

 

The bartender is quick to come by once the server collects the tray of drinks.  “Hey, Winchester.  You want your usual?”

 

“Hiya Jo! Yup.  And nachos. And a sampler for Cas. We’re celebrating.”

 

“Finally got one to go out with you?” Jo asks with fake innocence.

 

Dean glares at Jo and clarifies. “Cas here got me out of a traffic ticket.”

 

Jo turns to look at Castiel.  “Is ‘Cas here’ a cop?” 

 

“I’m a grad student, actually.”

 

“So….you wrote a thesis in his defense?”

 

Before Castiel can answer, Dean jumps in. “Long story, but let’s just say I remain in possession of money that I might have otherwise lost—“ he looks at Castiel who nods in agreement “and I’m choosing to spend some of that to say thank you.”

 

“Well, thank you for that explanation which was equal parts boring and cryptic,” Jo says before turning to put in their order.

 

He turns to Castiel.  “Did you want to show her your ID?”

 

Castiel is reaching for his wallet when Dean laughs and claps him on the shoulder.  “I’m just giving you a hard time.  I know how you are about breaking the law.”

 

Castiel lets his hand drop to his side. Looking at Dean, he sees a kindness in his eyes so, instead of being embarrassed, he shrugs. “At least I never have to go to court.”

 

When their drinks arrive, Dean is handed a single, large beer, while he is presented with a long narrow tray containing seven small glasses.  Jo points out the labels at the base of each glass and promises to be back soon with the nachos.

 

“Ok,” Dean says, “This is the sampler and it gives you a little taste of everything.  Just try them and see if there’s anything you like.”

 

The drinks are arranged in order from light to dark and Castiel decides to start at the left side with the one labeled “pale ale” and work his way across.  As he sips, Dean explains the basics of the brewing process and talks about hops and IBUs and other things that affect flavor.  By the time the large plate of nachos is set in front of them, Cas has sampled them all.  Dean encourages him to try them with food, too, explaining that like wine, certain ones pair better with certain foods and he pushes chips loaded with seasoned beef or cheese and jalapeno over for him to try.  

 

Even though each glass is small, together they add up to more beer than Castiel has had in one sitting.  Dean has had a few more of the big ones himself and as the evening wears on, they talk easily.  Castiel learns that Dean loves his job (restoring classic cars) but misses his brother who lives in California with his girlfriend.  Castiel tells him a little about his classes and how he doesn’t miss home, exactly, but that he hasn’t had much chance to meet people here. He mentions Hannah, and Dean interrupts him.

 

“Is Hannah your girlfriend?”

 

“No,” Castiel answers honestly, looking anywhere but at Dean. “Girlfriends…aren’t really my thing.”

 

Dean just smiles and holds up his beer. Castiel stares for a moment until Dean indicates that he should pick up one of his glasses. He chooses the Hefeweizen with the wedge of lemon and they clink glasses in a toast.

 

By the time they leave, Castiel is feeling warm and loose both from the alcohol and the conversation.

 

“Which one did you like best?”

 

“The porter,” Castiel says without hesitation, remembering the smokiness and hints of chocolate.

 

Dean nudges him with his elbow and smiles. “That’ll put hair on your chest, Cas.”

 

Castiel decides that this is one of those instances that doesn’t require an actual answer and simply smiles back as he zips up his coat. 

 

A light snow is falling as they walk back to the apartment building but Castiel doesn’t even notice the cold. They continue to talk until they reach the third floor and Castiel thanks him again for the nice evening. He’s expecting Dean to turn and continue up the stairs, but instead he reaches out his hand.

 

“You’ve got some snow…” he says as he lightly brushes Castiel’s hair and Castiel freezes in place, the air around them seemingly charged.

 

Just then voices carry up the stairwell from the lobby door and Dean steps back, the moment lost.  “Night, Cas,” he says.

 

Castiel lets himself into his apartment, head fuzzy from the beer.  He pulls off his jeans and crawls into bed without even brushing his teeth.

 

*

In the morning, Castiel wakes with a dry mouth and stiff shoulder from where he slept on it funny. He stretches out a hand, but Professor Muffin isn’t in her usual spot on the next pillow. Probably since he’s slept much later than usual.  He drags himself out of bed and into the shower, which wakes him up nicely.  Clean and dressed, he moves to the kitchen to start breakfast. He fills Professor Muffin’s bowl with fresh water and frowns when she doesn’t appear at his feet.  Looking at her still full food bowl, he’s hit with a burst of fear.

 

Castiel makes a quick round of the apartment checking her favorite spots.  She’s not under the bed or lying on the top of the bookshelf near the heating vent. She’s not on the windowsill amongst the plants.  He opens every closet and cabinet, fearing she’s been closed in somewhere, somehow. He even takes the cushions off the couch and chair, but she’s nowhere to be found.

 

Castiel stands stock still in the living room trying to think.  Had she slipped out last night when he came home?  He curses himself for indulging in the beer.  Had she gotten out earlier?  When Dean came to the door? How long has she been missing? Did she get outside, where the temperatures were well below freezing overnight? 

 

Maybe someone found her and she’s safe. But if anyone found her, they’ll know she’s not supposed to be in the building.  He turns every scenario around and around in his mind, but they all end up in disaster.  Finally, he shakes himself out of his thoughts and decides to search the building. Grabbing a can of her favorite treats, he steps into the hall.  There aren’t many places for her to hide here, but he walks the length of it occasionally shaking the can and softly calling to her.  When he finishes his floor, he checks the second floor and then the first. There are too many people in and out of the lobby for him to look there, so he heads back up the stairs to the fourth floor. 

 

He meets Dean in the stairwell.

 

Castiel shoves the can of treats into his jacket pocket.  “Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean has a paper in his hands, but he quickly folds it and puts it in his back pocket.  “Oh, hey Cas.”

 

The ease they shared last night is long gone in the light of day.  Castiel searches for a reason to explain why he’s halfway up the stairs to Dean’s floor but Dean doesn’t seem interested.  He waves a hand vaguely down the stairs.  “I’m just gonna see if the mail is here yet,” he says before continuing on his way.

 

As soon as he is out of sight, Castiel opens the door to the fourth floor and pulls out the can of treats.  He makes quick work of checking the hall, but still no sign of Professor Muffin. 

 

Back in his own apartment, he sits with his head in his hands.  On top of his cat being gone, Dean couldn’t have been less friendly this morning and he won’t deny that it stings, especially after how much fun he thought they’d both had last night. Maybe when he saw Castiel on the stairs he thought Castiel was going to start bugging him to hang out all the time or something.  It’s Saturday, Castiel realizes with a sick pang, the mail never comes before 4:00 on Saturdays. It hardly matters, though, because the best-case scenario is that somebody in the building has found Professor Muffin, and that means Castiel will be tossed out of here and living someplace new soon.

 

He waits until he hears Dean’s door close and familiar footsteps in the apartment upstairs before he chances a search of the lobby.  There are still people trailing in and out, so Castiel fumbles with his keys, trying to look casual when he notices something.  A handwritten sign has been posted next to the mailboxes.  All it says is:

 

DID YOU LOSE SOMETHING?

I FOUND IT

4C

 

Castiel waits for the lobby to clear before snatching the paper and turning back to the stairs.

 

Breathing hard from dashing up four flights, he knocks on Dean’s door.  He can tell when Dean checks the peephole, the reflected light going dark. There’s a long pause before the door cracks open.

 

“Sorry for acting weird, man,” Dean says. “I’ve just got sort of a situation going on right now—“

 

“Dean,” Cas says.

 

“How about if I come down later on?” he suggests, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“Dean,” Cas repeats and Dean rubs a hand over his own mouth.

 

“Look, I know you’re a bit of a stickler for rules and everything, so I don’t want to drag you into this.”

 

When Dean takes a step back to try and close the door, Castiel sees his chance and pulls the can of treats out of his pocket.   He shakes it quickly, three times.

 

In a flash, Professor Muffin is through the doorway, sitting at Castiel’s feet, tail twitching.

 

“You?”  Dean says.

 

Half dizzy with relief, Castiel nods and scoops up his cat, fumbling to open the lid and reward her with a treat shaped like a fish.

 

A door creaks open down the hall and Dean grabs him by the arm.  “Get in here.”

 

Dean’s door slams shut behind them. Professor Muffin is safe in his arms, chewing on the plastic lid of the treats.

 

“Dude, that cat is awesome,” Dean says excitedly. “All black and he just sneaks around on three legs.”  Dean makes little shifting motions with his shoulders to illustrate. “What’s his name? Ninja?”

 

“ _Her_ name is Professor Muffin.”

 

Dean’s still laughing when he leans in to kiss Castiel.

 

*

Six months later, Dean tells Cas they’re going for a drive, but that’s all the information he gets. 

 

“We’ll be there soon,” Dean says, reaching across the seat and taking Cas’s hand.

 

“I don’t like surprises,” Cas grumbles but he lifts Dean’s hand to his mouth and kisses the knuckles.

 

Dean steers the car into a shopping center parking lot and pulls into one of the empty spaces at the far edge.  “We’re here,” he announces and motions for Cas to get out of the car.

 

Cas follows him onto the sidewalk, nearly bumping into him when Dean stops suddenly at the corner. 

 

“This,” Dean gestures broadly, “is where it all began.”

 

Castiel looks around and realizes they are standing at the convergence of Sullivan and Fifth streets.  The traffic camera is mounted high on the light pole, its watchful eye aimed at the vehicles as they navigate the busy intersection.

 

 “Technically—“ he begins.

 

Dean steps forward and kisses him to shut him up. “No technicallys” he says, his eyes crinkling as he tries to suppress a smile.  “I brought you here, _where everything started,_ to ask you something.”  He clears his throat and reaches into his pocket.  “For the past six months, we’ve been spending nearly every night together which means one of our apartments is generally sitting empty.”

 

Generally Dean’s, Cas thinks, since they don’t like to leave Professor Muffin on her own and she’s found the crook of Dean’s neck to be a very comfortable place to sleep.

 

“So maybe it’s time we got our own place.” He pulls a flyer out of his pocket. “I found this apartment that’s just a block from where we are now and they allow pets.  It’s a little more than what we’re spending right now, individually, but it would still be a savings overall.  I mean, if you want to, I know it’s a big—“.

 

“Yes,” Castiel says and kisses him as the traffic camera flashes above them.

 

 


End file.
